


The Bitch File

by demonfox38



Series: DLC from DF38 [11]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23334787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonfox38/pseuds/demonfox38
Summary: The Engineer is used to fixing mechanical messes. Dealing with a battle-worn Sniper is a bigger mess.
Relationships: Engineer/Sniper (Team Fortress 2)
Series: DLC from DF38 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677937
Kudos: 26





	The Bitch File

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted on April 21st, 2013 at Tumblr. The work name refers to the lazy name I had for this file (as it was a bit of a personal comfort fic before I shared it online.)

Serene rolls of thunder and quiet beeps from small sentries were interrupted by a sharp clang.

The sound had the Engineer awake in the drop of a hat. He shot upright, fumbling to spin his alarm clock around. Two forty-five. Lightning cracked across his room, blue light splattering onto cotton sheets and the domed surface of another robot. He held his breath, listening. There were four different sets of beeps. All of his sentries were still active. None of them were spitting lead. Curious. He fumbled for the chain on his lamp. Clicking once, he lit up his cramped, cluttered living quarters. There was no one with him.

He wasn't going to take any chances. The stout Texan reached for his dismantled robot hand, then snapped it onto its arm mount. He tucked his feet into soft slippers. He patted the dispenser to the left of his bed, grabbing the shotgun propped up next to it and his keys from its top. Wood creaked beneath his steps. He reached for the door to his room, peering down the stairwell just outside. His residence was the closest to the garage. The room had its own stairwell that led down into it. For his safety, he always made sure that both doors were locked and that sentries were guarding both entrances. Neither had been disturbed. He passed them, stepping down onto the first floor.

A shadow met him on the stairwell. It had ascended from the ground, passing a hefty sentry as it rose up. Slow taps and squeaking wood gave some weight to the shade. It looked up, just as certain as the Engineer was that its mind was being toyed with. It paused in its stride, leaning towards its right side. The shadow shrunk backwards, keeping away from the dim glow of the nightlights coming from the first-floor hallway. The Engineer steadied his shotgun, lazily raising it parallel to his hips.

"Ya've already got me up," the Engineer muttered. "Ain't no time to be shy."

"Sorry," the intruder coughed. His voice was low, raspy. The man pulled himself up the stairwell, keeping a hand pressed firmly against his side. He smelt awful. Swamp water, sewage, mud—something earthy. Dark globs of filth and dirt dribbled down his form. He had no hat, no uniform. He'd trudged through the forest and the storm in nothing more than cotton pants, an undershirt, and one sock.

The Engineer dropped his gun's muzzle to the ground. "Mundy? That you?"

His teammate stepped onto the first-floor landing. "Me, or the Spy. Yer call." He gave the short Texan a grin, then bobbed his head towards the bathroom. "Really could use a shower."

"I've got half a mind to find a hose and spray you down myself," the Engineer sighed.

"If the rain didn't get me clean, I doubt that a leaky ol' hose would," the Sniper replied. He patted a hand towards the doorframe leading out of the garage. Once he'd found the exit, he pulled himself towards it. His steps dragged as he fumbled through the dark hallway. Puddles of gunk sloshed off him.

The Engineer followed him inside, careful not to step on the dirt the Sniper was trailing. "Didn't take any soap from yer van? No clean clothes or towels?"

"Didn't cross my mind," the Sniper huffed. He was getting impatient, yes, but that wasn't the whole story. The Engineer frowned, watching the way the Sniper patted for the light switch to turn the bathroom lights on. He winced as the sudden burst of bright light disoriented him. The Sniper did not flinch. He pushed onwards, reaching with his left hand towards the sink.

A thick, wet squelch hit the floor as the Sniper wrung out his undershirt. It was soaked through with muddy pond water. Algae and little bits of green plant life were mixed among the thick filth. Liquid as black as tar stained the fabric. A dark slash was torn from his shirt, a streak of crimson running over frayed fibers. It corresponded to a sharp slice taken out of the Sniper's side.

"Whoa, there." The Engineer was quick to grab the Sniper by his shoulders, his shotgun clattering to the ground. He pushed his teammate onto a bench. "Stay put. Let me get the Doc."

The Sniper shook his head. Dark droplets ran down his stained face, pale in contrast. He had his eyes shut, hands struggling to wipe gunk away. "It's okay, mate."

The Engineer raised his hands. "Okay, then. Let me get ya a dispenser. I should have somethin' ready for ya in a few—"

"Truckie, I'm fine," the Sniper cut him off. "Nothin' that a needle and some thread can't fix."

"Needle and—Chrissakes, Mundy. You're not thinkin' straight. Ain't the time to be ornery," the Engineer growled.

"I'm fine, Dell," the Sniper hissed back. The Engineer stepped backwards, shocked by the Sniper's switch in his attitude. He wasn't himself, more like a kicked animal than a man. It did no good to argue with him when he was being this petulant.

The Engineer raised his hands in frustration. "Fine then. Suit yourself, Mun—Mundy?"

The Sniper hauled himself off the bench, throwing himself towards the nearest toilet. The Engineer bolted after him. Muddy handprints splattered across the metal stall as the Sniper fell into the cold embrace of porcelain. He placed his head on the rim of the seat, waiting for something foul to spill out of him. Nothing came.

His shoulders slumped. "How clean's toilet water?" he slurred.

"I don't know what ye're plannin' on doin', but I wouldn't do it, if I were you," the Engineer replied.

"Okay," the Sniper nodded. He reached back for his teammate. "Help me. Please."

The Engineer's brain rattled, his stomach twisting. Angry one minute, and pleading the next? This wasn't like the Sniper at all. He reached down, pulling the Sniper onto his feet. It was him. The Engineer was certain of it. Any trickery by the enemy Spy could be detected by the slightest of touches. It was still his friend. Drenched, coated in slop, and moody, but still his Sniper. Given whatever events had happened to him, the Engineer doubted he would be in any better humor.

Pushing his chin up, the Engineer took a good glance at the Sniper's face. Brown ooze was sticking on his eyelids. No wonder he'd been fumbling so much. "Come on. Let's get that stuff outta yer eyes."

He led the Sniper to one of the showers. There was a small squeak as he turned on the cold faucet. Testing the temperature with his human hand, he increased the heat until it was pleasantly warm. He tapped his teammate on his right shoulder. The Sniper moved his head towards the sound of gushing water. He rubbed dirty fingers against his eyes, rolling the sludge away. The heat had done the trick. The substance balled up like half-dried rubber cement, then disappeared in swirling water and down drains.

With a few quick blinks, the Sniper cleared his vision. His eyes were too white and blue in comparison to his stained face. He looked like a monster in the shadows, nothing but eyes against the darkness of the filth still clinging to him. He fussed with a clump of mud in his scalp. "Not much better, am I?"

"Least ya got yer eyes back." The Engineer stepped back from the splash zone. "Got yer keys? Let me go get yer shower kit. Figure you could use a whole handful 'a shampoo. I'd give you mine, but…well, ya know. Kind of a cue ball."

The Sniper shook his head. "Not quite sure where it is."

"Yer keys?"

"My van."

The Engineer's eyebrows furrowed. "What do ya mean by that? How d'ya lose an entire van?"

"Kinda just…" The Sniper sighed, then turned from the Engineer. He kept fussing with his hair, shaking brown droplets out of it. "Parked it out by a lake, 'n…I ran pretty far, Truckie."

So that was it. He'd been camping again. For most of their time under the same employer, the Sniper had lived in his van. He'd parked it in the garage after a few bad events involving the enemy Spy trying to crack into it. It had only been during the past week that he'd ventured out of the garage again. Every night, he'd gone out, and every morning, he'd come back. Nobody would have let him leave the base otherwise.

"Listen," the Engineer murmured. "I'll be right back, okay? Take it easy."

The Sniper nodded. He placed his head on the wet shower tile mounted on the walls. He huffed, then continued scrubbing his scalp. The Engineer patted him on the side twice, careful not to touch his injury. He stepped out of the shower, wondering where to go. He paced around the bathroom, searching for a rogue shampoo bottle.

The Scout was always a sloppy bather. He left his towels and cleaning supplies scattered about the place. Hell, he even left his razors on the bathroom sink. The young man's lazy behavior spared anyone else from being awakened. The Engineer found his shampoo left on the ground, knocked over and half drained. He picked the sticky bottle up and gave it a good shake. There was plenty left over. It would do. He reached down once more, snatching up a few towels from a knocked-over heap. They felt dry and smelt clean. 

A squelch echoed in the bathroom. The Texan rushed back into the showers. His heart gave a thud, then went calm. The Sniper was sitting on the floors, eyes closed, drowsy under the warm stream. The Engineer shook his head, then kicked off his already soggy slippers. He shouldn't have listened to his friend. His wounds may have begun healing over, but his body hadn't compensated for his blood loss and whatever energy he exerted stumbling back to the base.

The Engineer's spine shivered. That crazy bastard had run back to their fort blind.

"You really should see the Medic," the Engineer said.

The Sniper agreed. "In the morning."

"Stretch…" The Engineer sighed. He squeezed a generous amount of shampoo into his human hand, then worked it into the Sniper's hair. Dark brown strands folded in his fingertips. The Sniper's fingers brushed the Texan's, then began working on rinsing the suds from his head. They moved in tandem, silent save for the splatter of water. Mud worked loose from the Sniper's scalp. It ran down the drain in dark swirls, followed in its winding course by blood stains.

"Gonna ask what happened?" the Sniper asked.

The Engineer didn't need to. He read the Sniper's bruises and cuts like tea leaves. He placed his robotic hand carefully on the Sniper's side, water bouncing harmlessly off the metal. "Knife cut. Just missed your back." He followed down the arm next to that wound, finding bruising and scratches. "Landed on your arm. Got pulled." He looked at the Sniper's downcast face. "Spy attack, looks like."

"Yeah," the Sniper replied. He broke his gloomy face, a low smile pushing his wrinkles aside. The Engineer managed a grin, then glanced down his friend's neck. There was more bruising. A thin line wound around his neck. The Engineer's jaw dropped. That wasn't a run-of-the-mill wound.

"Son of a bitch," the Engineer swore. "Did he try to strangle you?"

"Garrote wire," the Sniper chuckled once. "He can't stand bein' beaten, or bein' ignored. Think that's why he attacked me."

"Haven't seen him fer a long time," the Engineer murmured. He reached for the first of the towels, then began working on cleaning the Sniper's injuries. "What's he been doin'?"

The Sniper sighed. "Probably the same thing our Spy's been doin'—guardin' intel, reloadin' guns, and stayin' the hell away from robots. I reckon he's been cooped up. Must have saw me out 'n about, 'n—" His sentence dropped into a growl when the Engineer bumped into one of his injuries.

The Engineer pulled back. "Bit tender there, aren't ya? Sorry."

"Ain't anythin' too bad," the Sniper winced. He finished off his thoughts. "Everythin's just goin' nuts 'round here, you know? 'N I think that gets to a man. I've been lucky. I've been able to hop back 'n forth and do whatever. But, the other team's been so rigid. Must've cut him from the herd. Hurts a man's pride to be told he can't foight."

"He's just bein' a pill. What I wouldn't give for a break," the Engineer grumbled. This robot invasion had the Texan on the front lines every day. He had been chased up one field and down another, robots and explosives always at his heels. He wasn't a built runner, either. All he'd been able to do at the end of the day lately was collapse into his own bed. He barely had any energy to finish supper anymore.

And yet, when his teammates needed him, he was there, with soap in his hands and towels draped across his lap. It would beat what youth was left out of him, but he was letting it go willingly.

"Take it you won?" the Engineer asked.

The Sniper bobbed his head. "'Course I did. Not to say he didn't give me a good roll." He lowered his gaze, his energy dropping. The heat cut through the last of his strength. He slumped forward, his damp pants sloshing and heavy with water. The last of his fire swirled down the drain.

The Engineer shut the showerhead off. The Sniper wasn't as clean as possible, but it was good enough for now. He wrapped a towel around his friend's head, then squeezed water from his hair. Another brisk but careful rub wiped off his exposed skin. He grabbed another towel and threw it around the Sniper's shoulders. His skin was prickling in the night air, droplets robbing his body of his heat. His wet clothes weren't helping the situation.

The Texan frowned. Fixing that problem here was only going to cause another problem. "C'mon. Let's getcha up."

There were a few concerns in the Engineer's mind as he and the Sniper left the bathroom. He wondered if the Sniper had enough sense in his dazed head to lock his van up. It had probably been left open to the enemy Spy's pilfering opportunities. Not like it would do him much good, now that RED and BLU weren't at each other's throats, but it could still be a problem. Had the Sniper locked the garage up? At least the sentries were watching it. Should he just throw the Sniper over his shoulder and haul him away to the infirmary? That would probably be for the best, although the Australian would be sore with him for days.

The Texan smirked as he remembered that there was a dispenser in his room.

The trek out of the bathroom was leisurely in pace. The two of them sopped water through the halls, bare feet squashing against the cold floor. As they approached the garage, the Engineer tugged on the Sniper's hand. The Australian gave him a confused glance. The Texan nodded his head towards his bedroom.

The Sniper's face flushed red, then he shook his head. "Truckie, I can't—"

"Well, I can't let ya back out there," the Engineer interjected. "And ya don't want to take a snooze in the Medic's office, so I figure the safest place fer you would be…" He grunted, too embarrassed to finish his thoughts.

There was an awkward moment before the Sniper began arguing with him. "I'm soppin' wet."

The Engineer nodded. "Got some spare PJs. They'll be short on ya, but they'll do."

"…I really should find my van," the Sniper replied.

"Then I'll go with ya," the Engineer offered.

The Sniper slunk down. "There's probably all sortsa rabid raccoons in there by now, though. Might be nasty."

"Or lurking Spies," the Engineer noted. He poked the Sniper in the chest. "Not to mention we'd probably be hiking for hours in a thunderstorm lookin' fer it. 'N see, I just got ya cleaned up. Mostly."

"Mostly," the Sniper agreed.

There was a cheeky grin at the corner of the Engineer's lips. The argument was over. He nudged the Sniper towards his bedroom. The Australian relented, then grabbed onto the stair's railing. He hauled himself upstairs as the Engineer patted to the front of the garage. After making sure the locks held, the Texan returned to the bathroom to tidy up. Towels were folded and placed on wracks to dry. Shampoo bottles were placed in their abandoned spots. Shower nozzles were secured, and muddy toilet seats were wiped clean. Blood was washed away. He took up his shotgun once more, double-checking its safety latch and emptying its barrels. He grabbed his soaked slippers as well. With one last quiet click, he shut the lights off and exited the bathroom.

He was quiet as he returned to his bedroom. Rain ran down the window, leaving silvery streaks. Lightning flashed outside. The Engineer's bedroom filled with the long darkness and sudden glowing of the storm. He was at ease. He closed the door behind him, quiet and gentle with his motions. Bending down, he placed his wet slippers next to a pile of soaked clothes. His pajama drawer was a mess. Shirts hung out, unfolded, old university logos cracked with wear.

He could see the top of an Aggie's logo below the Sniper's chin. The long man's body was tucked into his bed. Knees were drawn up, toes brushing the end of the bed frame. He'd taken the flatter of the two bed pillows. It lay diagonally beneath his head, one arm wrapped above his head and the other at chest height. His eyes were closed, cheeks sagging, breath low. In and out through his nose. Always down deep into his ribcage, then steadily back out.

The Engineer stood for a few moments. Only a sharp roll of thunder snapped him out of his trance.

He was careful as he crept towards the opposite side of the bed. Gingerly, he pulled back the quilt and bedsheets. His weight sank into the mattress, raising it up. There was a light squeak from the coils beneath him. He fussed with his pillow, getting it propped up.

The short man stretched his legs. He found cold feet and hairy legs behind him. The elastic end of sweatpants rubbed against his calves. The Sniper grunted. He sighed, then pushed back. His spine went straight against the Engineer's back. Vertebrae rested against each other, cloth on cloth, warm skin radiating heat, muscles solid and reassuring.

"Sorry," the Engineer apologized.

The Sniper shook his head. "'M sorry. Woke you up first."

The Engineer pulled an arm out from beneath the covers. He patted the Sniper on his thigh. "Ain't nothin'. Just doin' my job."

Both men knew it was a lie. Not that there wasn't truth to the statement. It was part of the Engineer's job to ensure the health and productivity of his teammates. This wasn't business. A man didn't offer his clothes and his bed to any friend. Maybe a jacket, maybe a couch, but not this. Neither of them pressed the subject. It was late, and they were exhausted. There wasn't time or energy for fussing.

The rain came down in heavy sheets. A chill went through the room, the tempest outside roaring and banging. The Sniper's skin prickled. The Engineer's toes curled. Small, panicked emotions crept through the bed like a wave of tiny mice. The Engineer lifted his head, looking back at the man lying beside his back. His gaze was returned by tired eyes.

"Truckie? What's wrong?" the Sniper asked.

The Engineer was struck silent. He had a new problem, one he couldn't confess. The solution, however temporary, was at arm's length. He turned onto his right hip, then reached out. He wrapped his arms around cold skin, worn-out pajamas. The Sniper fidgeted. He wriggled his arms free. Calloused hands wrapped around flesh and metal, drawing them under stubble. The Sniper exhaled warm air onto the Engineer's arms, then buried his head into the pillow. It wasn't long before there was a smooth forehead on his neck, a nose on his spine.

The tyrant outside could go on as long as it wanted. Beneath down and cotton, they were together—safe.


End file.
